


Colour Blind

by Elandil



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Fantasy, Mental Health Issues, Mystery, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26046970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elandil/pseuds/Elandil
Summary: When Oliver is admitted into the intensive care unit after showing the first signs of the ‘White Fever’ his is given a journal left to him by Ana, a sister he barely remembers, who died of the same condition that is now killing him. Reading through the last days of Ana’s life he slowly becomes aware of things happening around him that shouldn’t be possible, like the unexplained arrival of flowers that no one can name. As he gets closer to his 16th birthday, the day that all those with white eyes lapse into a coma, the events get more frequent and it becomes obvious that someone is desperately trying to contact him. However, all roads lead to dead ends and his time is rapidly running out.





	Colour Blind

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Something else I found on my hard-drive and felt like dragging it into the light. There should be a second chapter somewhere, I just can't find it right now. Tell me what you think :)

It starts off small at first; a slight tremor here, a sudden, minor, spasm there. Present in one moment then gone the next, its effects as fleeting as a butterfly. Ignorable. Forgettable.

Next it’s the sounds. Not one specific one, but all of them, every single vibration, gaining in presence all at once like a dial that’s suddenly been turned all the way up to 100. Again, this isn’t too bad, it’s not quite as easy to hide the sudden flinches at slamming doors or the raised voices of her teachers but she manages it.

_Late night._

_Caffeine Rush._

_Migraine._

She works so hard at ignoring everything that eventually, everyone else does too, and she can’t help but sigh a quiet, oh so quiet, breath of relief when the questions and concerned glances finally stop. They come to ignore her pale complexion, the bags under her eyes, the stoop of her shoulders and its… fine. She’s fine.

~~I’m not fine~~.

It takes about a year, in all, before things go too far to hide. She tries anyway, but it’s her eyes that give it away, it’s always the eyes.

At first, she doesn’t even realise that something else has changed. After age eleven, the world becomes a monochrome for everyone, tinted by the thin, plastic lenses designed to provide some level of protection to them all. After 5 years of living in a perpetual grey scale, how was she supposed to notice when the contrast started to fade? When the different shades of black and white started to bleed into one another? When everything just started to be… less? Surely any blurriness can be written off by her developing insomnia. Any fading brightness is simply depression. It’s nothing to worry about.

~~I’m scared.~~

Once more she tries to ignore what can’t be changed and, for the most part, she manages it. Until she can’t any more. All it takes is one second of inattention, one slip, tripping over a kick not meant for her but which dooms her anyway.

The movement is instinctual, her left hand snapping forwards to stop her fall, forgetting for one second that it had just been in the act of tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The quick jerk of motion sends her glasses, the glasses that they had all sworn to never take off, skipping across the chipped canteen tiles and even manages to fail in its intended purpose. In the space of a heartbeat, she’s on the floor, a sharp sting shooting up from her palms and a curious gathering of onlookers all around.

She squeezes her eyes shut.

For a moment, there’s silence. Not a peaceful quiet, but the heavy silence of a hundred people holding their breath as they wait to see what happens next and it hurts almost as much as their idle chatter had mere moments before. Still, for a moment, she keeps her eyes shut and _hopes_.

The moment labours on for an indeterminable time, but long. Too long. People start to mutter amongst themselves, wanting something to happen but unwilling to start anything. No one wanted to shift attention away from her.

A few more ragged breaths and her own shock fades enough for her to start to think again.

Glasses. She needs her glasses.

Nimble as a half drowned spider, her fingers splay out, stuttering over the cold and sticky surface in a fruitless search. Where ever the frames had fallen, it wasn’t within her sightless reach, but she can’t give up so they continue their phrenic dance, growing more frantic with every hammered beat of her heart.

Tears are in her eyes, amassing in time with the cold that seems to breed in the pits of her stomach, twisting, turning, reaching until it catches the air in her throat. No one helps her and she wants to scream, to rage against the injustice of the situation because it’s obvious what happens next. There isn’t a way to avoid the inevitable, she knows this. She’s tried.

“Ana?”

Just like before, instinct damns her, the sound of her name wrenching her eyes open even as her head snaps round in search of the one calling her. It’s an ingrained reaction, one present in everyone and, for a moment, she doesn’t realise quite what she’s done until she notices… the hall is quiet once again.

Her eyes clench shut, head hanging as she tries to form some sort of shelter from her own body, but it’s too late; the damage has already been done. 

A quiet mumble starts somewhere to her left in a voice that she recognises, but a tone that she doesn’t. One word that starts there and flies outwards, the first ripple growing into a tsunami that soon fills the whole room. The volume never changes, never becomes more than a hallowed whisper of forbidden knowledge but she can hear it all the same. A word that she had tried so very hard to avoid;

_White._

It started small. If only it could have stayed that way.

T-6 days

Hello?

Oh gods, that sounds so stupid, but this is much harder than I thought it would be. What am I even supposed to say here? No matter what I put I’m sure someone’s already put it before, and done it better to boot. It’s not like writing about it is actually going to change ~~what’s happening to me~~ anything. But still, they say this will help. They say that it’s a good place to vent, because it’s a private space. They say I should use it to talk about my thoughts. They say a lot of things.

They said that no one is ever going to read this, so I should just write what I want to write, but that’s actually, very depressing when you think about it. If it’s really what I want, then I’m going to pretend that someone is reading everything. It’s kind of hard to write to no one, so I’m going to say I’m writing to Noll. He’s only 5 so he won’t ~~judge me~~ mind. I don’t think he even understands everything that’s happening right now so that might be the best place to start.

Hi Noll!

I’m not sure if you remember me too well, but it’s your sister. No, not Eri, Ana, your better one. If Mum’s letting you read this (I’m going to leave this with her so she better), then you’re probably quite a bit older than you were when it was written, so you may not remember everything that’s happening right now. Or maybe you do. You put up such a fight when it’s time to leave that I wouldn’t be surprised if you remembered out of sheer stubbornness. I bet you’re still driving everyone mad with that hot head of yours, don’t tell anyone I said this, but I think you should keep it up. No one likes a doormat and you’re a bright little brat even now, so it should be easy for you to know when to really dig in your heels. Just don’t let it get you into trouble okay? Sister’s orders!

Just in case you don’t remember and you start wondering why no one’s ever talked about me before, it isn’t because of something I did, more like something I… didn’t do. Or my body didn’t do at any rate. You see, I’m one of the 0.001% of the population that’s ~~defective~~ ‘white’. It’s not something you’re ever going to have to worry about, thank the gods, but I’ll tell you now, it’s a real ~~bitch~~ pain.

You know how everyone’s eyes are white before they fill in when you get your powers right? Well, because I never managed to get any of those nifty little ‘gifts’ that I’m sure you’re already using in the most… responsible manner, mine never did. Instead, they stayed stubbornly white and will remain that way for the ~~next six days~~ rest of my life. A life that I’m going to have to live out in the confines of this blasted room.

Sorry, that’s a little maudlin. Back to the colours though, and I’m sorry if it sounds a little obsessive, but it’s all I’ve been able to think about lately. Everyone gets a colour and, personally, I’ve made a bit of a game out of guessing. Would you like me to guess what you have?

Honestly, I’m thinking that you’re a green, but I suppose you could be blue instead. The way you look at people is terrifying at times, like you can see right through them. Still, no one is as comfortable in a hospital as you are, not even me, and I’ve practically lived here for the last few months.

Don’t get hung up on it though, just do you and the colour will take care of itself. Anyone who tells you otherwise is just not worth your time. Just… be Noll and, hey, no imitating me understand? Being one in a thousand may seem pretty cool, but in all honestly, it’s actually unbelievably boring. I’ve not been allowed out of this room in over a week and there’s only so much you can take of the same three songs repeating on the radio.

Don’t tell anyone else, but it’s also really lonely. That’s why I love your visits so much, even if I have to hear you scream when it’s time for you to go. You don’t have to come every day, but I’m glad that you do. Still, this has to remain between you and me okay? I’ve been trying to act like I don’t care too much for Mum’s sake; you know how she gets sometimes, but some days it’s just harder to smile than others…

I want to write more, but Nurse Sydes has started fussing at me so I’m just going to leave it here. At least I get to see you tomorrow. Will you show me another one of your drawings again? I love the way you’re colouring makes Dad look like a demon.

Missing you already,

Ana.

The journal doesn’t start right away, the first few pages riddled with scribbled out phrases and half-finished doodles that look as though their creator lost interest after only a moment. Still, it is these unfiltered, forcibly censored thoughts that captivate his interest much more intensely than the letter like entries that come later. There’s a sincerity in these absentminded additions that is lacking in the rest of the entries.

~~I’m not fine.~~

~~I’m scared.~~

~~what’s happening to me~~

~~don’t judge me~~

He doesn’t judge her. Can’t really. Not when the same thoughts run in an unending stream through his own head at all times of the day and night. Maybe it’s selfish, but he can’t help but feel glad that she felt the way she did; it’s oddly comforting to read them, to run his fingers over the thin impressions left by the sharp strokes. It’s grounding he supposes, a reminder:

_I am not alone._

A lie, but a familiar one.

There are more entries, more letters, most of them addressed to him, but there’s an odd one or two addressed to Erika and a lone missal for Mum too, but none for their Father. Even in this he’s absent. That isn’t a surprise anymore.

“Morning Oliver. How are you feeling today?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t know how. After so many days of the same routine, the same faces, the same walls, the only thing he can feel anymore is drained. Completely and utterly drained. He guesses that this probably has something to do with his sickness getting worse, but there’s no real point in mentioning it.

He doesn’t have to speak anyway; Sydes will do more than enough for the two of them.

“It’s such a lovely day outside, wouldn’t you like to go into the garden? Annie used to love it, you could never get her to stay in bed when the sun was out.”

Annie.

They’re trying to make him feel more comfortable by telling him stories of his sister, trying to make him feel better, and they can’t even bother to get the name right. Typical. Still, he’s been here long enough to know that it wasn’t really a question. With one last glance he folds the notebook shut and slips it under his pillow. He doesn’t know why he does it, and from the fond exasperation in the nurse’s green eyes, it probably isn’t normal, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Moving from his room into the gardens doesn’t take long. Despite the many twists and turns of the hospital corridors, the route is actually pretty simple, or it is if you have the time to memorise the different corridors and, for all that it’s running out, there’s nothing he has more than time.

Outside it’s bright, perhaps a little too much so without the tinted lenses that had obscured his vision for the past 4 years, but the sunlight is still soothing, like slipping into a hot bath after a day in the snow. He stands there for a moment, eyes half lidded as he simply absorbs the sensation and, for that small second, he can imagine that there’s nothing wrong. The reprieve doesn’t last as long as he would like however, shatter by the screaming tires of a passing vehicle and he can’t help but flinch. He doesn’t remember his hearing being this sensitive before, but he can’t say he hasn’t been expecting it. He read about it in the journal, just as he had learned everything else about his… condition.

Despite the numerous petitions that had been started over time, there never had been much research done into the experience of ‘whites’ and no one was actually willing to document anything. It’s much easier to sweep things under the rug and ignore them if there’s no hard evidence after all.

“Ah, this is much better than that stuffy room don’t you think Noll?”

He sends her a look and she backs down, her hand dropping from where it had been moving to clasp his shoulder. Sydes knows that she’s not allowed to use that name. She also knows that it’s the only way to get a reaction out of him, which is probably why she keeps doing it anyway.

“Sorry, habit. You’re sister used to talk about you all the time, ‘Noll’s starting school today’, ‘Noll said he’s going to visit on his birthday’, ‘did you know that Noll got onto the junior football team, he’s only 5’. It used to make her day when you came in to visit her, I’d never see her more animated than when you and your other sister… Ellie? were in the room. Still, I didn’t even know what your real name was until I saw the admission papers that your mum left…”

She stops talking then, her mouth taking on a pinched look as she realises how far into dangerous territory she’s drifted. The creases in the corner of her eyes deepen and he knows that the next thing out of her mouth is going to be an apology so clumsy that it will only force her foot further into the abyss so he stops listening, turning away so that there’s some level of protection between himself and her stupidity.

His eyes are closed now, his senses so focused on the sound of the wind as it tears through the border hedge that he nearly misses it at first, but it’s there, dancing just on the edge of his hearing and so faint that it takes him a moment to register it at all.

“Noll.”

He turns, his whole body whirling with the movement, ready to snap at the Nurse behind him but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the middle of her stuttered spiel to have been the cause. Obviously he is hearing things, wishful thinking and all that rot.

Shaking his head to clear it, he starts to move away, intending to go to the bench by the pond he can’t see but that he knows is on the other side of the rose bushes, but after a single step he stops, his feet frozen in place. It comes again.

“Noll.”

The sound echoes now, as though coming from further away, but at the same time it is so much clearer. A voice that he can only half remember yet what he does remember is enough to have him chasing down the sound before he can even think about what he’s doing.

Jittery and almost certain that he is dreaming, Oliver, Noll, follows the erratic calls back through the winding labyrinth of tunnels, moving from familiar territory to familiar territory until he finds himself at a door that he knows far too well. For the space of a heartbeat he hesitates, hand lingering on the cold handle. One breath later and he pushes down.

It’s his room. Identical to how he left it not 15 minutes earlier but for the journal that now rests on top of his pillow.

Still feeling as though in a dream, he moves swiftly to the bed, scooping up the book as his eyes search the entirety of the space, determined to discover who else had been in there. It was the wrong day for the cleaners and he never had any visitors. It takes a few laps around the crowded space to appease his paranoia, but eventually he has to admit that he is alone in the room. The call doesn’t come again.

As the time passes, the fading adrenaline gives way to his accustomed lethargy and he moves back to the only real furniture present in the room. Falling onto the thin mattress he raises the journal, intent on checking it for tampering, but the moment he peels open the cover he is assaulted by a single, deep purple blossom that floats from the pages and onto his nose, freezing him in place.

Unbidden, his mind drags up the memory of when he was only 4, curled up under the desk in Ana’s room as they played one of the ‘quiet games’ she would pull him into every now and then. The light had been off and he had been so tired at the time, but he can still remember the bright hues of the flowers in the book she showed him. She had explained that each flower had a secret meaning, like a code which, intrigued by this new language, he had done his best to learn. After that night, whenever she had wanted to tell him something in private, it would always start with the same flower.

Hardly daring to breath, he reached up with a shaking hand and gently plucked the blossom from his face. Moving so that he was seated now, back propped against the wall, he could do nothing more than stare down at the flattened flower in his hand, barely even noticing the flustered arrival of Nurse Sydes at his door.

After one glance at her face, he was expecting another lecture about not running off, but she must have noticed some of the tension in the room as her irritation fell away, leaving her voice gentle when she spoke.

“Oliver, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure that he could. All he could do was stare down at the iris that stood out so starkly against the white of his hands as he fully processes its meaning:

 _I have a message for you_.


End file.
